The Secret of Northanger
by BagerthaBlouseheart
Summary: Catherine's been invited to stay at famed Northanger Abbey, but she's about to discover a dark secret hidden within...


_Henry_

The carriage moved at a steady pace, the horses trotting down the worn dirt path. Henry Tilney loosely held the reins, mischief glimmering in his eyes.

"There are all manner of horrors in Northanger Abbey." He looked over at Catherine Morland, doing his utmost to keep his expression steady while also reveling in the wide-eyed focus of her attention. "Dark corridors, secret passages..."

"Secret passages!"

"Well, one secret passage. Intended for servant access."

"Can we go through it?" She shifted to face him more, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. His fingers gripped the reins more tightly, fighting the urge to reach over and take one of her hands into his. "Is it absolutely frightful?"

"We will go though it," he said, "right after you've gotten settled in your chambers." He raised his eyebrows as he added, "And I must ask that you brace yourself."

She turned back to face the front, mouth slightly agape and eyes still wide. Henry couldn't help but smile, wondering what her wild imagination was conjuring.

They turned down the drive toward the abbey, the massive, towering stone structure an imposing sight against the sky. The gray stone, weathered and worn, was in stark contrast with the clear sky. He imagined it from her perspective, ideas already brewing about what lay within those walls, and stifled a chuckle.

The footman met their carriage and took the reins. Henry climbed down and stepped over to Catherine's side quickly, his hand ready to take hers and help her descend. Her cool fingers were soft against his palm. By instinct, his thumb touched down, truly holding her hand rather than allowing it to rest atop his, and for a moment, he felt the gesture returned.

"I trust you'll enjoy your stay at Northanger Abbey," boomed the voice of General Tilney as he approached from his coach. With a quiet gasp, Catherine's hand flew from Henry's as she clasped them in front of her before curtsying. "We will have you up in your room so you can get settled.

"Thank you, General Tilney." There was a light flush on her cheeks. Flattering, delicate. "You are so kind to welcome me to your home."

General Tilney, satisfied, led the gathering inside while the servants gathered up the luggage. Eleanor Tilney caught up with Catherine and took her arm. "Allow me to show you to your room."

Henry took a step back, watching how Catherine put a hand over Eleanor's, their demeanor comfortable and at ease. Eleanor liked Catherine, and the feeling was returned. If possible, the burgeoning warmth that spread outward from his heart moved faster. To have the one person he respects more than anyone else, whose opinion mattered to him above all other's, accept and enjoy the company of the young woman whose eyes glittered in any light and whose smile was infectious only further encouraged the confidence in his footsteps.

"What shall we do first?" Eleanor asked Catherine, giving Henry a backward glance. "Walk around the garden and enjoy this glorious sunshine?"

"I was telling Miss Morland about the _secret passage_," Henry said, lowering his voice to sound suspenseful and ominous.

"Oh, yes." Eleanor smiled, playing along. "That would be a good place to start."

"I must say, Miss Morland," Henry said, "that it is most dreadful. A tight walk space, cobwebs, a mysterious draft..."

"Oh, Henry," Eleanor said with a laugh. "Do stop teasing our poor guest."

Cathy had tightened her hold on Eleanor's hand, but her expression was nonetheless enraptured.

"I do apologize, Miss Morland," Henry said. "Please rest assured that you are completely safe within our home."

"Oh, certainly, Mr. Tilney," Catherine said. "I should like very much to visit the secret passage _and_ the garden, should there be time for both before supper."

"We shall see," Henry said.

The group crossed the foyer, and Eleanor walked Catherine up the curved staircase toward her chambers. General Tilney was there, smiling, as the two women walked up.

"Such a lovely young woman," General Tilney said to his son.

In looking at his father, Henry's expression sobered. "I wonder at your fascination with her, father."

"Nonsense," General Tilney said. "Show her the best of Northanger. She is an honored guest."

General Tilney went upstairs, turning left toward his own chambers where Eleanor and Catherine had turned right. Henry watched his father's retreating form. _Honored guest_. Henry fought the sneer that tugged at his lips, his initial suspicion bubbling to the surface. Henry would have to remain vigilant.

_Cathy_

"Such a lovely space!" Catherine said, awed by her guest chambers. The bed linens were crisp and smelled freshly laundered. The room was free of dust, and the curtains open to allow the afternoon sunlight to pour in. She looked at the small table there beside the window, imagining herself reading by the fading sunlight before turning to the candle.

"I hope you're comfortable here," Eleanor said. "Should you need anything, I am right down the hall."

The footman brought Cathy's trunk up and set it in front of the massive wardrobe.

Eleanor smiled and said, her tone confidential as the footman stepped out, "I should think that Henry will be ready to show you the secret passage very soon. Meet us in the library once you've settled. It's the room downstairs, directly beneath yours."

Catherine's heart fluttered at the thought. "All right."

A real secret passage! What dark things would she face down there…

_Moving slowly, trying not to make a sound, Henry leading her by the hand. Streaks of light peek through the slats of wood, allowing them limited vision as they slowly slip between the walls, going God knows where…_

_And his hold on her hand is tight. His rolled up sleeves revealed taut sinew…_

A bird fluttered its wings outside, bringing her out of her reverie. She went to the washing basin and sprinkled cool water on her face, gently blotting her cheeks dry before unbuttoning her spencer coat. The remaining full dress attire would be suitable, especially with the Tilneys as relatively new acquaintances.

Such an odd feeling, being in a grand house with such new friends! Cathy's mind was a whirlwind of thought and emotion, nothing coalescing into anything substantial until she thought of Henry. How easily he made her laugh, and how quickly she followed his every word, even as he teased her.

She hastened downstairs. _Directly beneath yours_, she remembered, hearing Eleanor's voice in her mind. The library doors were open, and she watched as Henry and Eleanor both stood from their seats on the sofa. Grand shelves behind them were filled with books, and Cathy couldn't help but stare, almost breathless. The stories that resided on those shelves, thrilling romances and daring adventures surrounding her as she crossed the threshold.

"The passage is just here," Henry said, gesturing behind Catherine, toward the wall next to the doorway. In the corner was a plush chair and a small table, a couple of books stacked there. "The passage will take us to the kitchen and the dining room."

"So that servants could pass through the two rooms unseen," Eleanor said, "bringing refreshments from the kitchen without much issue."

"But the passage hasn't been used in many years," Henry added, his eyebrows reaching up to his hairline. "There were rumors of strange sounds in the passage—knocks on the walls, whispered voices, gusts of wind rustling the cobwebs..."

"Have you ever gone by yourself?" Catherine asked, staring wide-eyed as Henry reached for the decorative moulding that marked the bottom of the bookshelf. Up close, Cathy could see a thin line where the wall separated.

"As a boy," he said, looking at the closed door as if remembering something from long ago. "But I have yet to see if the rumors are true."

"Come on, Henry," Eleanor said, feigning boredom. "Daylight is waning."

Henry pulled the moulding, the thin door opening to reveal a narrow passage. "After you, Miss Morland."

Catherine's heart beat fast, her hands tightly clasped before her as she stepped inside.

"Give your eyes a moment," Henry said from behind her. "Lanterns would be lit, of course, if this was still in use."

The door closed, and the passage was too dark to see. Catherine raised a hand before her but saw nothing.

"We should've had the foresight to bring one," Eleanor said. She was directly behind Catherine, which was a comfort in case Cathy needed to reach for her hand. "Henry?"

Catherine turned her head, which was useless in the dark. "Is he not here?"

The door to the passage opened again, and Henry stepped in, bearing a lit candle. "A thousand apologies. I wanted to make sure we had some light for the journey."

"After closing us up in the dark first," Eleanor said. Catherine smiled at her tone—sarcastic but also amused.

"Let's enjoy the ambiance," Henry said, and the light from the fire danced on the features of his face as he smiled, making him more handsome, if not slightly sinister.

Catherine's heart beat faster. _Breathe, Cathy. Don't you dare faint_.

She was not prone to fainting, having a sturdy constitution like her mother, but she'd also never been in a secret passage before, like a heroine in one of her beloved novels. She set her shoulders back, walking slowly and taking in the setting as the voice in her mind narrated everything...

_The passage was dark, save for one single candle trailing behind her. She dared not look back, his visage made handsome by the firelight...but also fearsome. The shadows played against his features like a dance with darkness. She had to be strong for her friend, Eleanor, who depended upon her. Each step she took was a step toward the unknown, her hands reaching for the walls to help guide her._

There was a knock behind her, and she squeaked out a scream, pressing her hands to her mouth and turning to her friends. In the candlelight, she could see that Henry was smiling.

"Henry," Eleanor chastised, but she fanned herself. The knock had given her a turn, too.

Catherine pressed a hand to her bosom, her heart throbbing from the panic. Relief slowly came, and her breathing leveled. Her eyes lingered on Henry's shadowed face before turning to continue down the hallway.

"To the right, here," Henry said from behind.

Eleanor reached beside Catherine and opened the hidden door. Catherine peered inside the kitchen, where a cook was working over steaming pots.

"Oh!" The cook started before giving Eleanor and Henry a scowl. "I thought you'd both given up using that passage."

Catherine looked up at Henry, realizing now that this was a frequent habit of his, and he smiled guiltily.

"I'm afraid the jig is up," Henry said with a shrug.

But Catherine wouldn't have traded those moments for anything, even if there was no real supernatural element lurking in the dark.

"Let's go to the dining room," Catherine said, looking from Henry to Eleanor. "I'm curious to see the rest of the passage."

"Excellent." Henry grinned. "I love your spirit, Miss Morland."

The burgeoning flush on Catherine's cheeks was soon hidden beneath the shadows of the passage, and this time Henry led the way, giving candlelight to his two adventuring companions.

"It was Henry's favorite place to play hide and seek," Eleanor revealed, taking Catherine's arm as they walked slowly. "And surprising Cook was one of our favorite pastimes."

"And it's easily done," Henry added. "Tending the kitchen is difficult work, and requires a lot of attention. So, as you may imagine, it would be easy to miss two children sneaking in through a hidden door, coming up behind you..."

And while their story reflected good-natured fun and mischief, Catherine still imagined a being lurking with ill intent, coming in from a secret door with dark designs upon its target...

Henry opened the door to the dining room and stepped out, allowing his companions to follow suit. "And there you have it," he said, blowing out the candle.

"Now may we take a turn about the garden?" Eleanor asked. She turned to Catherine. "Or would you like to retire and rest? I know Henry gave us both quite a fright."

"The garden would be lovely," Catherine said, for she wanted very much to remain in their company. Eleanor brought the quiet comfort of a dear friend, despite their relationship being so young. And Henry, with his wit and banter, was riveting, a challenge that Catherine had never faced before.

She looked forward to the exhaustion that would bring her to sleep that evening. She would close her eyes and remember the day spent with the Tilneys, the way that Henry's smile emphasized the lines around his eyes and cheeks...

_Henry_

With Catherine and Eleanor walking arm in arm ahead of him, Henry pondered his father's intent with inviting Catherine to Northanger Abbey. What purpose would the General have in matchmaking a young woman of no fortune with his youngest son? Advantageous marriages were all the General considered, his own included, and Henry's future happiness, as far as the General was concerned, centered around the amount of money his bride could bring. The Tilneys had fortune, but more was always better. And if Henry defected from the General's wishes, his own inheritance would be forfeit.

But when he watched Catherine smile in amusement, when he looked into her wide, curious eyes...

His hands itched to cup her face, to feel the softness of her blushing cheeks.

Wielding a stick, he struck at a nearby bush to help his thoughts clear. Now was not the time for such worries, not when a lovely young woman was in his company.

There were things about Northanger that Catherine didn't know, that wouldn't even come into her realization unless Henry or Eleanor would reveal them to her. The General certainly wouldn't—no, these were to be left for those married into the family to discover. If the General had his way, these secrets would be left buried deep within the estate, and deep within their own hearts.

But Henry wanted to tell her. Catherine needed to know about the family, about the house where she believed she was safe.

He would make sure she was safe. She'd already escaped the clutches of John Thorpe, God be praised. That scoundrel being so close to her—the very thought made Henry grip the stick he carried painfully tightly. But, honestly, better the stick than John Thorpe's neck.

"What say you, brother?" Eleanor asked him, both young women turning their necks to see Henry walking behind them.

"I do beg your pardon," he said, "but I didn't hear a word. What was the question?"

"Should we take Cathy to the vicarage tomorrow?" She asked. "Weather permitting, of course."

"I think that would be splendid."

"Is the vicarage haunted too?" Catherine asked, smile bright.

"Haunted _too_?" Henry chuckled. "What else is haunted, Miss Morland?"

"Why, the abbey, of course."

"Ah, yes, of course. How remiss of me. Goblins in the attic, vampires in the basement."

Eleanor's eyes widened. "Now, Henry."

"Are there ghosts in the graveyard that come to visit?" Catherine swayed slightly, still holding Eleanor's arm.

"Only at teatime," Henry said. "Old habits, as they say."

"Really, you two." Eleanor shook her head, but she was smiling. "The imaginations in my presence are almost too much to bear."

"The graveyard is quite a ways away from the vicarage, though," Henry explained, "so only the most tenacious of ghosts come calling."

"I should say that would warrant a cup of tea, then," Catherine said. "All that effort would work up quite the appetite."

Eleanor patted Catherine's hand. "I should say that we've worked up an appetite as well. What say you both? I am quite ready for tea."

"Absolutely splendid idea," Henry said.

_Cathy_

They enjoyed tea in the library, the Tilneys wonderfully hospitable and kind. Enjoying the atmosphere of the room and her present company, the afternoon waned pleasantly, the bright sunny sky darkening as clouds rolled in. The naturally lit room darkened as a band of clouds overcast the sun, and Henry looked toward the window.

"I wonder if we will have inclement weather." He looked at Catherine. "Are you able to sleep during a storm?"

"Yes," she said. "Having nine siblings has helped prepare me to sleep through just about anything."

"Should you need anything," Eleanor said, "I am right down the hall. Please don't hesitate to knock on my door."

What kindness, going out of their way to make sure that she was comfortable. But she would be fine. If a storm was coming, the smell and sound of the rain would only add potency to her rest.

She heard the front door open and close loudly. Henry and Catherine shared a look as footsteps approached the library door.

"Afternoon tea." General Tilney walked in, his demeanor authoritative. "Excellent." There was a light smile adorning his mouth, but his eyes were stone set. He looked at Henry and Eleanor. "I trust you both have entertained our guest and made her feel at home." He looked at Catherine, his expression amiable. But there was still a hardness around his eyes, something she couldn't shake.

"I have had a splendid time, General Tilney," Catherine said. "You have a lovely home."

"Thank you. I am thrilled that you should like it." He bowed his head. "I will take my leave. See you for supper, Miss Morland."

"We should rest and get refreshed," Eleanor said, standing. Her expression altered at her father's arrival, something in her eyes that gave Catherine pause. But now was neither the time nor the place to pose the question.

Eleanor led the way upstairs and escorted Catherine to her chambers. "I will come fetch you for supper. Father prefers to have it promptly at seven."

That was in three hours, plenty of time for a refreshing bath and rest.

In her chambers, alone in the quiet space, she sat atop her bed and remembered Henry's face in the candlelight.

There was something in his eyes that glimmered in the amber light...or was that something she added in memory? She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, trying to see the image more clearly...

A knock came to her chamber door. "Miss Morland?"

Henry!

Catherine raced to the door and opened it, the air from the rushed motion blowing wisps of her hair away from her face. "Yes, Mr. Tilney?"

"I do apologize for disturbing you," he said, "but I only wanted to reassure you that the estate is completely safe."

"Oh, yes, Mr. Tilney."

He smiled, a light flush on his cheeks. "I feel rather ashamed for teasing you, aggrandizing the potential ethereal aspects of our family home. And while it is rather old, I have yet to meet one specter or fiend within it."

The sunlight within the room dimmed. Apparently, the clouds had both increased in number and speed.

"I feel that this clarification is especially poignant, with the coming weather," he added. "Please, if there is anything you require, do not hesitate."

"Thank you, Mr. Tilney."

"I will see you at supper, Miss Morland."

With a slight bow, Henry turned and left. Catherine closed the door slowly, watching his retreating form through the shrinking opening. He glanced back toward her once and smiled.

_Henry_

Downstairs, Henry found General Tilney in the library, surveying the space idly while he waited for his son.

"Did you speak with her?" General Tilney asked.

"Yes, Father." Henry exhaled, exasperated. "I want to make something very clear."

General Tilney smiled, mouth agape in mock surprise. "_You_ want to make something clear? Well, let's hear it, son."

"I want no harm to befall Miss Morland. None whatsoever."

"And what would you have me do? Allow your mother to perish?"

"What has happened to Mother should never have been." Henry stared at his father, seeing the cruel visage that framed the cold, unwavering eyes. How could such a man have ever claimed to love anything? "It is unnatural."

"Unnatural." General Tilney began a circuit around his son, as if he were a predator sizing up his prey. But Henry stood taller, shoulders back and chin up as if accepted an unspoken challenge. "It's what we _are_, my son."

"It's what you made us." Henry sneered. "And Catherine should—"

"_Catherine_." General Tilney stopped, his smile akin to a cat having just eaten a canary. "Your words betray you, Henry."

"She is innocent. She has nothing to do with this."

"She is _perfect_. Something that Elizabeth needs."

"Mother doesn't _need_ this." Henry sneered at his father. "_You_ need this."

"I would have your respect," General Tilney said, his voice growing louder. "I did what I did for us! For the family!"

"You did it for yourself!"

General Tilney struck his son, the palm of his hand colliding with Henry's cheek. Shock broke through the anger for only a second, as Henry's widened eyes squinted and his sneer turned into a growl. "You will never touch me again. And if you lay a hand on Miss Morland—"

"What?" General Tilney challenged. "What will you do, Henry?"

"Something that I should've done a long time ago."

Henry turned and left.

_Cathy_

It was nearly seven, and Catherine was lightly smoothing her hair with her fingertips. There was no need to gently pinch her cheeks to promote color; her face had been continually flush since arriving at Northanger Abbey.

The sky was still overcast, the white light of the moon often obscured as the clouds passed. She imagined fog sweeping through the trees, sounds of lonely animals shifting in the brush of trees and shrubs, a distant, melancholy howl from some place unseen...

Someone knocked on her chamber door, startling her. She went to the door and opened the room up for Eleanor.

"Sorry to disturb you, Miss Morland," Eleanor said, her amiable expression somewhat strained. "Are you ready?"

"Yes." Catherine smooth the front of her dress once more before stepping out of the room. The sound of the closing door echoed in the spacious, quiet home.

"Father expects his supper promptly at seven," Eleanor explained. "I do apologize if I've made you feel rushed."

"Oh, not at all," Catherine reassured.

As the two women stepped downstairs, General Tilney waited beside Henry. The General had the marks of a scowl on his face, masked beneath the hint of a smile. He didn't want to appear cross, Catherine assumed, especially in front of a guest.

But then Catherine's eyes found Henry's, and the warmth and softness there calmed any pressure at meeting the General's expectations.

"Miss Morland," General Tilney greeted, his voice echoing off of the stone much like the closing door upstairs. "I trust you've been comfortable."

"Yes, General Tilney."

The General offered Catherine his arm. She glanced back toward Henry, and he gave her a small nod as he offered his arm to his sister. Strange. But Catherine placed her hand on the General's, and the pair entered the dining room together, Henry and Eleanor behind them.

This was a lot of pomp and circumstance for an evening's supper, Catherine thought, but the General must have wanted to impress her. That didn't require much, as Catherine was both impressed and intrigued by the Abbey and the family that dwelled within.

The General was rigid beneath Catherine's touch, like a man made of stone. She glanced up at him as he stared ahead. Hardness lined his eyes.

She took a steadying breath and allowed the General to seat her.

_Henry_

Henry watched his father's every move during supper—every gesture, every word spoken. Poor Catherine, the faint flush on her cheeks, had no inkling of the brewing storm that she was caught in. Henry partially hoped that Eleanor had warned her, some sisterly drive enduring that Catherine Morland had every opportunity to escape the Abbey. But Eleanor feared the General more than Henry did, and perhaps a part of her believed that Catherine could help her mother. He knew that a part of her wished it were so, but belief is different than a wish. Wishes could come true, mostly through perseverance and intent, but belief is what propelled those actions in the first place. Your actions prove that you believe that something is true, therefore it _is_ true.

Henry chewed slowly, listening to the droll conversation his father was leading about the size of the dining hall. Too much showing off for Henry's tastes, especially when he much preferred the subtle beauty of the Abbey—the ivy growing up the stone, the garden cultivated by his mother that Eleanor now tended, the riding trail that he frequented on horseback.

He looked over at his sister, and he could read the same worry on her face. A civil war waged within her, he knew—the desire to do right by her family, to help her mother and please her father, but also the knowledge of right and wrong—and having Catherine Morland here was _very wrong_.

I should take her away from here, Henry thought. The idea was fleeting, but he consciously grabbed onto it, as if striking gold. _I should take her way from here_.

Horseback, taking her to the vicarage and then beyond. His father kept some money locked in his desk. They could book passage, pretending to be siblings to avoid any scandal and to protect her reputation. Then, maybe in London, a city large enough that they could pass into obscurity, they could get married.

His heart pounded with energy at the thought. Yes, they could get married and thrive far away from this place.

But just as quickly as his hopes soared, they crashed at one single thought: Catherine's family. She was close with all nine of her siblings, and her parents were doting and kind. She would miss them all terribly. And Henry would never dream of separating her from them, even though he wanted that very thing for himself.

Eleanor was the only exception, but she would be miserable. Worry would plague her. She would find no rest, no joy—only guilt.

Henry ruminated, a small part of him holding out hope that the idea wouldn't fall completely away. How could he have allowed it to come this far? As if he had any say. As if he could successfully stand up to his father and yield any results. He remember the sting on his cheek from his latest attempt. But he wouldn't allow his father to have his way. Not this time.

_Cathy_

_She moved forward slowly, her hands pressed against the wall to guide her. She blinked in the dark, which was useless—her eyes couldn't adjust to this amount of darkness. There was no light and no sound, save for her pounding heart. A wisp of breath escaped her parted lips, the sound delicate and trembling, but she had to keep going. She had to get out, to find the light at last_...

_A hand pulled at her arm and spun her. With a cry, she was pulled against something living—a man, whose hands now had both of her wrists._

"_Catherine," his voice whispered. That voice_...

She saw the flash of lightning before hearing the crashing thunder, and she gasped as her eyes opened. She was in her chamber, buried beneath the covers and quite safe. Candlelight had burned out long ago, and the fire was only embers. The rain pounded against the glass of her window as the wind blew with such force!

But it was only a dream. She panted, trying to catch her breath, to quell her pounding heart.

But his voice...familiar, deep...

And the strength of his hands...

She closed her eyes, breathing steadily, wondering if, this time, she would see his face...

She felt a presence there. The imagery strong in her mind, but there was something more—the feeling of eyes upon her, of another body close to her own.

She opened her eyes.

The looming shadow peered over her, the shape of a head and shoulders but no light enough to see if the shadow had a face. She screamed, her voice peeling out of her throat with enough terror to curdle the blood.

The crash of furniture came from another room. "Catherine!" A voice coming, along with thundering footsteps.

The rain fell harder.

The door burst open, and lightning flashed to illuminate the room.

The shadow was gone.

Catherine, panting with hands clasped to her bosom, watched as Henry rushed to her side. His shirt was untucked, and the tie at the neck was undone. "Catherine, what is it? What's happened?"

She struggled to catch her breath, cold shivers rivaling the hot adrenaline that pulsed throughout her body. His warm hands found her face.

"Please," he said, "tell me what happened."

His fingers wiped away the tears that she didn't realize had fallen. "It—it must have been a nightmare." She took a deep breath and held onto his wrists, his touch reminding her that she was very much alive. "Oh, Henry, I was so frightened."

"What did you see?" He smoothed a few strands of hair away from her clammy face.

"I dreamt of a voice. He called out my name. And then I opened my eyes—there was a shadow over me." She shook her head, still pressing his palms against her cheeks. "I'm so sorry. How silly."

But the fear still had her heart in its grip, the dark chill of the shadow hanging over her...

"Oh, goodness!" Eleanor entered the room, also rushing to Catherine's bedside. "Is everything all right?"

Henry's hands left Catherine's face. She fought against the shiver. In the absence of his touch, the chill of the room clashed against her warmed cheeks.

"It was a nightmare," Henry said. "Perhaps Miss Morland would like some company this evening." He looked at his sister.

"Oh, no," Catherine refused. "I will not inconvenience you." She looked to Eleanor. "I will be all right."

"I don't mind at all," Eleanor said. "If it would make you feel better, of course."

Catherine considered. "All right."

"Good." Henry stood, heaving a sigh and stood. "Very good." He bowed his head. "I will see you both in the morning, then. Goodnight."

The two women bade him goodnight, and Catherine reclined onto her pillow, Eleanor crawling into bed beside her.

"Goodnight, Catherine."

"Goodnight."

Catherine closed her eyes, images of the shadow coming back to her. But Eleanor was there, and that comfort helped her find rest.

_Henry_

"I know what you did."

Henry stormed into the conservatory where General Tilney was taking his breakfast.

"Good morning to you too."

"I know what you did last night." Henry stood over his father, anger burning from his eyes. "I am going to make arrangements for Miss Morland to leave."

"Are you?" General Tilney stood. "You're going to send her back to her family, bags packed? Will you explain the reason why she will be so unceremoniously cast from our home? Or what lie will you conjure up to explain your actions?"

Henry bared his clenched teeth. "I'd rather be seen as unfriendly and inconsiderate than to have Catherine here beneath your gaze."

"_Catherine_." General Tilney smiled. "The flush of youth, always on her soft features."

"She doesn't deserve this."

"Neither did your mother, but alas, we do not get to decide what befalls us."

"We have power in this!" Henry grabbed his father's shoulders. "We have power, and yet you choose to use it for your dark purpose!"

General Tilney shoved his son away, smoothing his clothes and walking toward the door. "I will do what I must."

_Cathy_

The morning sun was bright, and Catherine raised her face to it, closing her eyes. The garden was rich with scents of the summer blooms. For a brief, beautiful moment, she'd forgotten all about the ghastly nightmare from last evening.

Eleanor walked over, carrying a leaden tea tray, and set it on the table beside Catherine. "What a splendid idea," she said, adjusting the place setting before pouring Catherine's cup. "What made you think of it?"

"I was still a bit shaken this morning," Catherine admitted. "Being outside has helped."

The tea tray came with scones and cream, as well as an assortment of fruit. "Cook has prepared a full breakfast for us, the moment we're ready," Eleanor said.

"This trip has been splendid." Catherine took a sip of her tea. "Your family has been so kind to invite me here, to put up with my silly fancies."

"One cannot help what they dream," Eleanor said. "A nightmare can happen anywhere."

"Henry must think I'm so foolish."

At this, Eleanor smiled with sympathy. "I can say with utter confidence that he does not."

Catherine wanted desperately to hear more—what Henry truly thought of her, if he had any intentions toward courtship—but she resided with her tea instead, keeping the impertinent questions to herself.

Eleanor sighed loudly, bringing Cathy's attention back to her companion. "This was my mother's favorite spot," Eleanor said, looking around at the flora with awe. "She took painstaking efforts to cultivate the plants. She would speak to them, sometimes sing to them." At this, Eleanor laughed. "I loved hearing the sound of her voice."

"What happened to her?" Catherine asked, then gasped. "I apologize."

"No, no." Eleanor smiled, but there was sadness in it. "She became very ill."

"I am so sorry."

"She was a wonderful woman. A wonderful mother. I consider myself blessed to be her daughter."

Catherine took Eleanor's hand, thinking of her own mother. She breathed deeply to quell the overwhelming tide of homesickness that burgeoned in her chest.

"We don't always have a choice in how things in life will play out," Eleanor said. "My mother's illness awakened a sense of life within me. There are times when I feel like I can do anything—see the world, do extraordinary things—but fear usually sets in."

"What are you afraid of?"

"Leaving my father," Eleanor admitted. "Mother's illness struck him hard. He's never really recovered from it. Powerlessness is a frightful emotion, especially when you're a man like my father."

Eleanor pressed her lips together, and Catherine could see the swelling emotion begin to take her friend. Catherine squeezed Eleanor's hand and smiled. "Where is your favorite spot in the garden? I think a walk would do, before we enjoy breakfast."

Eleanor nodded, taking a breath and standing up. "It's a lovely spot, especially in the morning. Birds, butterflies, and the smell." Eleanor inhaled as if she could smell it already. "Let's go."

_Henry_

Henry stepped down into the basement, the damp, chill air seeping through his clothes and his skin. He breathed in the smell of mildew and stone, wrinkling his nose but continuing on despite the assault on his senses.

It was dark, save for a few candles that offered dim light. Not that he needed it. The amber glow offered a certain ambience in the space, one that his mother seemed to like.

He took the final steps into the chamber, where a middle-aged woman sat in a straight-backed chair. Her dark hair, with flecks of gray at the forehead and temples, was pulled back into a loose bun. The style complimented her angular face, and somehow brought emphasis to her lovely gray eyes.

"Good morning, my son." Her voice was smooth. "I hear we have a guest."

Henry stepped to his mother, Elizabeth Tilney, and bent to kiss her forehead. "Hello, Mother."

"You didn't come see me yesterday," she said.

"I have been fulfilling my duties as host," Henry said, taking a seat beside his mother's. "Our guest is a new acquaintance."

"One that I have yet to meet."

His mother had dark circles beneath her reddened eyes. Her lips were pale. Henry took her hand, her fingers weak as she squeezed his. Not much strength left. No wonder General Tilney insisted on Catherine's arrival to Northanger, so soon after they met.

"Is she pretty?" Elizabeth asked.

Henry looked at his mother, seeing the pleased expression on her face—the smile that emphasized the laugh lines around her mouth and the light crow's feet around her eyes. "Yes. She is lovely."

She brought her other hand to her son's. "Then I am happy for you, Henry."

He grit his teeth, looking at her hands and feeling how weak they were. He swallowed, tension tight in his throat and chest, the conflict waging war within him.

His father's intent. His mother's need.

Henry's conscience.

Henry stood, kissing his mother's hand. "I must return. Breakfast is ending, and I promised her that I would take her to the vicarage."

"How's the weather?" she asked.

"Bright and sunny," he said. "Last night's storm was severe, but it has cleared up nicely."

"Be careful, my son."

"I will."

He turned and walked out, the heels of his shoes tapping against the wet stone. He didn't feel the oppressive atmosphere of the chamber until he was out of it, breathing freely as he emerged upstairs.

He closed the door behind him, making sure to set the lock.

_Cathy_

The stable boy brought out a pair of horses, saddled and ready for the day's ride to the vicarage. Catherine accepted assistance to mount the mare she was given, sitting side-saddle as was the custom. But she longed to sit astride and command the horse to run, feeling the wind against her face. The oppression of the night before was still somewhat with her, and she was grateful for a day's ride. The air was much easier to breathe, as if she could leave the memories of the night behind her.

"It's good to see that smile on your face," Henry said, climbing up his own steed and settling in his seat. "I trust you got some rest last night."

"Yes, thank you." Catherine winked in the sunlight, studying Henry's face. It was paler than she remembered, but perhaps he struggled to find rest, himself. A twinge of guilt hit her heart, knowing that her nightmare was to blame. "Will Eleanor not be joining us?"

"She has some matters to attend to—correspondence, and all that."

Catherine wondered if Eleanor was, perhaps, too tired, after spending a night in an unfamiliar room. "Thank you for taking me on this tour."

"I have been looking forward to it," Henry said, taking the reins and leading his animal. Catherine followed suit, riding beside him. "The bright sunshine is a nice break from the dark, haunted rooms of the abbey."

She laughed, mostly at the deep, menacing tone he took. "I'm eager to see what stories the vicarage has to tell."

He looked at her, a glimmer in his eyes. "It shall not disappoint, Miss Morland."

They rode on, a bit of a race manifesting itself as Henry coaxed his horse to cantor forward, followed by Catherine urging hers to catch up. Soon, both were at a slow gallop, Catherine laughing as both animals were well matched for a race.

They reached a gray stone structure, modest in size but still lovely in its architecture. The surrounding trees offered a lovely backdrop, giving the vicarage a fantastic atmosphere. A wood nymph would peek out from behind a tree at any moment, or a sprite would float up from a flower, disrupted by their arrival.

With Henrys' assistance, Catherine descended from the saddle, his hands taking her waist. She seemed to land slowly, as if he were holding her up and setting her down himself. Her hands reached for his arms to steady herself as she landed, feeling the muscles beneath the sleeves of his jacket. Strong and taut. She must have looked at him with surprise, for their eyes met and lingered, his hands still on her waist.

"Is something the matter, Miss Morland?" He stood straight, releasing Cathy and letting his arms hand at his sides.

She took a quiet breath. "No, Mr. Tilney. I apologize. The ride was exhilarating."

"Do you require a rest?"

"No, not at all." She smoothed her skirt and stepped forward, taking the lead to explore the vicarage.

The property was quiet, birdsong accompanying the insects buzzing around the flowers. The air smelled clean, and Catherine had the feeling that only good things could happen here. Sunlight blinked in through the treetops and danced across the gray stone of the vicarage.

"This is to be mine someday," Henry said, hands clasped behind his back as he leisurely strolled through the grass.

"It's beautiful." Catherine reached a hand and touched the stone—cold and damp, rough against her fingers. A spot if ivy had started its journey up the building, attaching itself to the stone facade as it reached higher.

"There's a lovely footpath that leads to a nice little clearing." Henry offered Catherine his arm, and she gladly took it.

The silence was comfortable as the pair walked forward, Henry's hand on Catherine's as she held his arm. In that moment, Catherine felt quite sure of herself, certain of something in that moment. Certain of herself, certain of Henry...certain that she was in the right place at the right time.

"I feel quite a peace here," Catherine said. "It reminds me of home."

Henry seemed pleased.

She opened her mouth to ask a question, pausing first. "Is there really a graveyard nearby?"

Henry laughed, and she could feel how relaxed he was—the muscles in his arm loose, his posture easy as he walked. "It's not really nearby. It's quite a walk away." He raised an eyebrow. "Would you like to go?"

For a fleeting moment, Catherine was going to say yes. The thrill of the idea made her heart race. But she looked at Henry, her eyes tracing the curves of his face, her hands holding onto him, and she wanted nothing more than to remain exactly where she was.

"No." She smiled. "I think I'd must rather stay here. With you."

The flush warmed her cheeks, but she didn't care. She looked up at Henry, both of his warm hands enveloping hers, and she _knew_.

_Henry_

A perfect day. Taking Catherine out to the vicarage, just the two of them, with the sunlight and the cool breeze and the signing birds.

_A perfect day_.

They were within sight of the abbey, the horses walking slowly as each of them wanted to take their time before getting back.

Her joy and eagerness to experience life, her imagination, her compassion—she was absolutely lovely.

He looked up to the abbey, the building impressive on the horizon, elevated to the sky by the mound of earth and rock that it sat upon. Impressive—and foreboding.

He shouldn't allow her to return to the estate. He should take her and run away, flee to London and, perhaps, beyond...

But he needed money. He picture the bank notes stashed in his father's desk. Just one more night...maybe not even that long...and they could escape together...

But would Catherine go with him?

_Cathy_

After luncheon, Catherine found peace and rest in the library. Hundreds of books, floor to ceiling on the shelves, were waiting for her hands to open them, for her eyes to scan their pages, for her imagine to picture the stories they told.

She lunched on the chaise, eyes drinking in the words as she reread the _The Mysteries of Udolpho_ for the third time. Still, Radcliffe's suspense maintained his grip on Catherine's heart.

A creak. Someone putting pressure on wood in the room, somewhere behind her. Catherine gasped and turned around.

There was no one. Only the corner of the room with a floor lamp, the shelves I disturbed.

_It's just a story, Cathy_. She turned her eyes back to the book, her ears aware of every noise in the room. Even her breathing seemed loud, so she tried to inhale slowly and steadily, exhaling as quietly as possible.

A noise again! This time, it sounded like something heavy was being pushed across the floor. Catherine stood quickly, the novel falling to the floor. Was someone upstairs? Eleanor perhaps?

But Catherine's chambers were the ones directly above the library...

The creaking sound returned, and Catherine turned. It was coming from that corner.

She crept over, her feet delicate on the wooden floor as she watched and listened.

Closer to the shelves, Catherine reached a hand out. There was a draft, a thin sheet of air continuously blowing. She found it—another crack in the wall, like the passage that Henry and Eleanor had showed her!

But why not show her this one? Did they know about it?

Catherine hesitated, her hands hovering over the shelf, but her curiosity overwhelmed her. She pushed against the shelf, feeling a hidden door give beneath the pressure. It bounced toward her, the door opening. The light from the room shone down into the passage, illuminating stairs going down...

"Miss Morland?"

She gasped, turning, hands behind her back although they held nothing. Henry stood there, a book in his hands, his face as white as a ghost.

"I'm sorry!" Catherine blurted. "I heard a noise!"

Henry hastened to her and closed the door, setting a fastener at the top of the door that Catherine didn't see. "It's all right, Miss Morland. This door is to remain locked at all times."

"What's down there?" She swallowed, her breath coming fast as her heart fluttered. Unconsciously, she held onto Henry's arm, leaning into him. Her legs were weak.

"Nothing to worry about, Miss Morland." He looked down to her and wrapped an arm around her. "Are you all right? Here, sit down."

She let him guide her back to the chaise, and succumbing to the seat helped her to focus on her breathing. "I don't know why I'm so—so frightened."

He pressed a hand to her face. "You're so cold!"

"I'll be all right," she said.

"I'll have some tea brought to your chambers," he said. "If you would allow me to help you upstairs."

She nodded, taking his arm as he lifted her to her feet. They went upstairs, her strength returning as she put one foot up in front of the other.

"Why must the door remain locked?" She asked.

"It's been the rule since we were children," Henry answered. "For our own safety, lest we sneak down to the basement and get hurt without anyone knowing. Now it's kept lock, purely out of habit."

They went into her chambers, and Henry helped her to her bed. "The tea will be up shortly."

"Thank you."

He touched her face, a pained expression deepening the lines around his eyes. She pressed his palm against her cheek, the connection grounding her.

"Try and rest, Miss Morland," Henry said. "I will see you for supper."

He left, and Catherine sat on the bed, remembering the stairs descending into darkness. What was down there?

_Henry_

Eleanor closed her book, her face slackened from shock. "What prompted her to look over there?"

Henry paced the length of Eleanor's chambers, his sister watching him from her reading chair. "Heaven only knows. We didn't go near that corner. I hoped the servant's passage would've quenched her thirst for the paranormal. Any suspicion would've been written off as preposterous."

"Something made her go over there." Eleanor stood and tried to steady her brother. "Perhaps Mother made a noise?"

Henry's arms were crossed in front of him. "That's a logical explanation for her finding the passage."

"You should speak with her about it," Eleanor said.

"I'm afraid the only thing that would sate any curiosity would be to take her down there. Anymore conversations about it would only increase the curiosity."

Eleanor hummed as she exhaled, thinking. "Perhaps you're right."

"What on earth was Mother doing down there?"

"Difficult to say, being cooped up in there relentlessly."

Henry pinched the bridge of his nose. "I will sleep here tonight, in the event that Catherine makes another attempt."

"One of us should speak with Mother," Eleanor said. "I will. I don't mind."

"If you think it would do any good."

"She only needs company."

"She needs a husband who will help her, not pacify her."

Eleanor didn't respond. Rather she replaced the book on the small table by her chair and went to the door. "I'm sure Mother will appreciate the company."

_Cathy_

Page after page of _Uldopho_ proved just as satisfying as the other two times she'd read it, only this time, she kept feeling the cool, damp breeze from the basement. She kept seeing the wooden stairs that disappeared into a never-ending darkness…

"Don't be silly, Cathy," she said aloud to herself, turning another page. The sun had long since passed, and supper was delicious. "If you get yourself in trouble, General Tilney will send you straight home."

She wallowed in the thought of never seeing Henry again, of somehow disappointing him by pursuing a curiosity, of snooping where her little nose didn't belong. Curiosity wasn't a charming trait, and it could cost her dearly.

Determined, she focused on each word, forcing her mind to picture the scene that Mrs. Radcliffe painted. _Dive into this world, Cathy, and resurface to reality with the sunrise_…

_She was running down a dark cobblestone street, a church bell tolling distantly behind her. His footsteps were coming faster, the clicks of his heels louder as he approached…_

"_Catherine!" That voice!_

_She turned. Henry, half of his face in shadow, swept her into his arms. "Catherine, my darling! What's happened?"_

"_He's coming!" She was out of breath, but the words came. They had to get away. "He's coming!"_

_Henry scooped her up and carried her in his arms, moving quickly through the night. She wrapped her arms around his neck, the feeling of safety washing over her. They were going to be all right…They were going to be all right…_

She heard the sound of hinges first, followed by the creaking wood bearing weight. She was in motion. Consciousness returned, and she realized that she was being carried. But she wasn't in Henry's arms…

She gasped. "General Tilney!"

His face was engulfed in darkness as he stepped down, his focus unshakeable as he kept carrying her down.

"General Tilney!" She began to struggle in his arms. "Let me go! Please, let me go!"

"Ah," came a feminine voice. A match was struck, the amber glow dancing against the features of a woman, middle-aged, who lit a nearby candle. The space was small but well furnished, and the candle was the only source of light. "She's here at last."

"I had to time it, my love." General Tilney set Catherine down, holding fast to one of her wrists. She struggled and scratched to try to pull herself free. "I know I am behind schedule."

"Henry!" Catherine cried, but the general's hand pressed against her mouth with a motion swifter than was natural.

Footsteps thundered upstairs. Relief began to swell outward from Catherine's chest. _Henry_…

"Eleanor came to see me this afternoon," the woman said. "It was about the girl."

"Eleanor is naive." The general grunted as he kept his firm hold on Catherine. "You should act quickly, my love, before the cavalry arrives."

The woman closed the gap between herself and Catherine, sweeping over with incredible speed. The candlelight flickering in her eyes caught Catherine's gaze, and Catherine felt herself being pulled in, as if mesmerized…

"Stop this!" Henry barreled down the stairs and pulled his father away from Catherine.

Catherine felt hands turn her sharply, and the eyes that she met this time were Henry's.

"I have to get you out of here," he said, taking her hand. "Run, Catherine!"

"NO!" The woman reached for Catherine, and Catherine saw a flash of white in the woman's mouth…white, glistening fangs…

But Henry was faster, carrying Catherine up the stairs with incredible dexterity. They stole out of the abbey, and Henry carried her to the stable. There was no time for a saddle. There was barely time for reins. Henry mounted the first horse he could reach and pulled Catherine up in front of him.

"Hyah!"

The horse stormed out of the stable, galloping fast away from the abbey.

"I'm going to take you home," Henry told her. "I'll have your things sent to you."

"Henry!" Catherine struggled to breathe. The night air hit her at last, and she shivered. She was still in her night dress. "Henry, who was she?"

"She is my mother," Henry said. "I'm afraid explaining will have to wait."

They rode for most of the night, keeping off of the roads when carriages approached. When the horse slowed, Henry looked down at Catherine's frightened expression.

"Several years ago, my mother became deathly ill. Doctors were baffled, and there was nothing to be done. She was dying. My father was utterly beside himself. Powerlessness is both enraging and crippling, especially for a man like the general."

"But she didn't look ill."

"No, the illness that had her in its grip was overtaken by something much stronger. My father, in his travels and work with the military, overheard someone taking about a cure for illnesses, a cure for death. But he was in a tavern filled with drunken fools. Still, his curiosity was piqued."

A cure for death…Henry couldn't possibly have meant…

"The cure wasn't what my father was expecting. He was overtaken before he realized what he'd walked into, and when he arrived home, he was a different man."

"He wasn't a man at all, was he?"

Henry shook his head. "No."

"So your parents…they're both…"

"Vampires."

Catherine held onto Henry more tightly, looking around them for any glimpse of a supernatural creature hunting them.

"We're alone," he said. "Father wouldn't leave Mother's side, especially since she requires sustenance."

Catherine gulped. "Oh. And I supposed that was meant to be me." She looked up at Henry. "But, sunlight! The general's been outside!"

"That is fiction, I'm afraid. Vampires can be exposed to sunlight, although their bodies are rendered mortal."

"Crosses? Stakes?"

"Also fiction."

"What happened to your mother? Why is she in your basement?"

"When Father realized what had happened, what he'd become, he saw this opportunity to help his wife. And he did, but the transformation was done improperly. She can't bear sunlight—it hurts her eyes. And her bloodlust seems insatiable."

"Insatiable." Catherine imagined Mrs. Tilney dressed in a red gown, sweeping through cities claiming victims.

"She is too weak to feed herself. Father has to help her."

"So he brings young girls over to the abbey." She pushed away from Henry. "And you knew?"

"After the ball in Bath, I told my father about my feelings for you," he said. "I'd hoped that his gesture was to get to know the woman I was looking to court. It wasn't until you were already within the abbey that I knew the truth. Although, I suspected."

"You said that I was safe there." Tears stung her eyes. "You _made_ me feel safe there." She gasped. "The shadow in my room…"

"That was my father," Henry said. "Catherine, I cannot express how sorry I am."

She said nothing, resigning to ride alongside Henry in silence. He must have understood, for he remained quiet, too.

She was almost home.

"Don't say anything to my family," Cathy said. "I'll try to explain why I'm coming home in the middle of the night in my dressing down. Some disaster at the abbey, and you rode as fast as you could manage." Then she had an idea. "I'll tell them that I suspected the general of killing his wife, and he banished me from the abbey without any time to waste."

Henry whistled. "That's quite the lie, Catherine."

"But a believable one."

He didn't disagree, although Catherine would see the sting of her words show on his face.

She arrived at home just before sunrise, and she explained the fictitious circumstance with Henry at her side to corroborate. Mrs. Morland thanked Henry for making sure that Catherine got home safely and invited him to return for tea at his earliest convenience.

But he didn't return.

_Henry_

Two Years Later

Henry looked at the modest dwelling where the Morlands lived. Nine children there were, but only seven now. Influenza swept through the countryside, and another Morland was in the crosshairs.

He could hear her coughing from where he stood. The front door was open, letting the cool spring breeze. He stepped over the threshold, chiding himself for not returning for tea when Mrs. Morland invited him.

And now Mrs. Morland was dead, taken by influenza. It was only Mr. Morland and his remaining children.

She coughed again. He followed the sound, his footsteps quiet against the wooden floor. Hat in hand, Henry knocked on the closed chamber door. One of Catherine's siblings answered.

"Aren't you Mr. Tilney?" she asked, her dark, curly hair tied back with a ribbon.

"I am." He looked up to see Mr. Morland sitting beside his daughter, prayer book open on the bed. Her siblings sat around the room with varying degrees of grief on their faces. "I am so very sorry, Mr. Morland."

"You are a friend of Cathy's?"

Henry nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Henry…" Catherine's weak voice was naught but a whisper. "I thought I'd—never see—" A coughing fit interrupted her.

"Come, children," Mr. Morland said, and he began ushering them out. "Give them a moment."

Catherine was so small, swaddled in half a dozen blankets on her bed. Her face was pale and clammy, and Henry felt Death in the room. He went to her, sitting on the bed and taking her hand and pressing it between both of his.

"Oh, Catherine." Tears welled in Henry's eyes. "I am so sorry."

She shook her head feebly, bringing her other hand to rest on his.

"If I could…" He began, but stopped himself. "Cathy, there is something you should know."

She blinked at him. Her eyes were bleary and bloodshot.

"Cathy, I can help you."

"Help me?"

He went to the window and drew the curtains. Without sunlight pouring into the room, it was much more somber. Death felt very close.

"I need you to look at me." He cupped her face. "Look at me, Cathy."

She blinked a few times before focusing her eyes. He stared at her, slowly baring his teeth.

"You…you're…" Another coughing fit seized her chest. She pressed her hand to her mouth, and there was blood as she drew it away.

Coppery, warm blood.

"Just say the word, and I will heal you." Tears fell from his eyes as grief mingled with the sensations stirred up by the smell of her blood.

"Your father…"

"Yes, Cathy. My father changed me. Eleanor, too. Both of us were sick with influenza. But that's why I've come. As soon as I heard, I had to come see you, to save you."

"This whole time?"

"No. Very recently." He stroked her cheeks. "Please, Cathy. May I? Please?"

"My family…"

"You're dying, Cathy." He kissed her forehead. "Please." He kissed her lips. "Let me save you. I love you. I've never stopped loving you."

She touched his face. "You never married?"

He shook his head. "Oh, God, I didn't even think to ask if you had."

She smiled. "No, I'm not married." She coughed again, the sound deep within her chest.

"Will you marry me, Catherine Morland?"

She tried to steady her breathing, the sound wheezing in her lungs. "Yes."

"Does that mean that I can save you."

"Yes."

###

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